


Good Karma Massacre

by another_Hero



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Nail Polish, Platonic Slumber Party, slumber party stuff you know, this has no plot but I assure you it is not porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28536741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_Hero/pseuds/another_Hero
Summary: Ray's power goes out. Ronnie invites him to stay in her guest room, which he chooses to interpret as Ronnie instigating a slumber party, despite her grumbling.
Relationships: Ray Butani & Ronnie Lee
Comments: 20
Kudos: 25
Collections: platonic slumber party of platonic slumber parties





	Good Karma Massacre

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sonlali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonlali/gifts).



Ray had just set down his lantern so he could pull out the blankets from his perfectly organized closet when his phone buzzed. It was a text from Ronnie: _Hey, just drove by your block. Power out? You can stay in my guest room if you need._

Bless her. _OMG sleepover!_ he replied, _I’ll be right over!_ and instead of the blankets, he turned to where his tote bags were hung tidily on a hook. He pulled down his _Photos by Ray_ tote for a change of clothes and his _Hire Joan Cusack More_ tote for slumber party essentials, and when he got Ronnie’s reply text, _No need to go overboard_ , he cheerfully ignored it. In five minutes, he was packed, wrapped in his coziest sweater, and switching off the lantern as he stepped out into the dark street.

Ronnie had a fire lit when he arrived, a couple lamps on, a perfect cozy winter room. The house smelled of herby tomato sauce. She called a casual “hey” when he let himself in—after a warning knock; he was a guest—and after he dropped his clothes on the guest bed, he joined her in the kitchen with the first of the two bottles of wine he’d packed. “Thank you so much for inviting me,” he said. “You know how slow Gwen can be with the power line repairs.” She was much too busy, often out of town; they needed to assign someone else, but nobody else wanted to take the training.

He’d eaten dinner with Ronnie before, plenty of times, but he’d never actually stood around while she cooked. It didn’t surprise him when he thought about it, but Ronnie didn’t seem to be much for sharing the kitchen. “How can I help?” he asked, and she frowned and pointed at a chair and said, “Sit right there.” She wouldn’t even let him come in to get wine glasses; she set them on the counter herself.

Politely situated on his chair, he rifled through his slumber party bag. “I brought us several movies,” he informed her. “I’m not sure which tone we’re trying to set with this slumber party—”

“Ray, I’m 52 years old, I’m not having a slumber party.”

“What else do you call it when you invite a friend to sleep over?”

“Good karma,” Ronnie grumbled.

“Well, I’ve brought a variety of movies to set the tone for your good karma. I have _Slumber Party Massacre_ —excuse me, of course I meant _Good Karma Massacre_ —” she was facing away from him, which probably meant she was laughing and didn’t want to admit it— “and _Last Holiday_ and _Mystery Men_ , which isn’t a _great_ variety, but I do believe it covers all of the essential bases. Your choice, of course, since you’re doing me such a favor this evening.”

“All right,” Ronnie said. She gave no indication of a preference, but they hadn’t even eaten dinner yet; Ray wasn’t in any hurry.

“I also brought popcorn—I didn’t know whether you had any—and nail polish, though it turns out I only own four colors, and a very nice face mask David left behind. I’m not sure whether that was a mistake or a message, but either way, we have it now. And a second bottle of wine, of course.”

“And what’ll you be drinking?”

“Ha ha, yes, very droll. All in all, while it’s certainly not the most fabulous slumber party I’ve ever planned, I do think that for a rush job, it should be more than adequate.”

Ronnie raised her eyebrows over the cheese grater. “What’s the most fabulous slumber party you’ve ever planned?”

That was an easy answer. “1998. We made our entire living room into a blanket fort, I prepared four different kinds of hot beverages, and we all knit stuffed animal parts we then stuck together. It turned out that most people, when told to make part of an unspecified stuffed animal, simply create a tentacle! The evening concluded with quite an orgy, so it was a good thing we did the knitting first.”

That last bit got the attention he’d been hoping it would. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t know whether you were actually paying attention. I thought you might have just asked that question to get me to talk to myself and stop bothering you with my slumber party plans.” Ronnie didn’t do that, he knew, but he couldn’t help wondering.

“I don’t do that,” she said. “If I don’t want to listen to you, I’ll tell you to shut up.” Ronnie was under the mistaken belief that if she expressed her warm feelings gruffly enough, people would mistake them for gruffness. It was one of the things that made her such amusing company.

“As far as nail polish goes,” Ray said, because this might be the window when she’d agree to something she usually wouldn’t, “I have metallic midnight blue, glitter purple, neon green—I don’t advise neon green, though, I don’t think it’s your color or mine—and maroon. I think I’ll go with glitter purple. How about you?”

Ronnie was really trying to look unimpressed.

“I think the metallic midnight blue is very elegant,” he suggested.

“I just decided I’m wearing black tomorrow.”

“Maroon, then.” Ronnie was draining pasta and didn’t respond, which was basically the same as agreeing. She plated all the food herself; it was a little more formal than Ray tended to be with his guests, but that was her style, and he didn’t mind. It helped that she was an excellent cook.

So he paused his joking about their evening situation while they ate. He wanted to pay proper attention to the food, which would be hard to do with Ronnie glaring at him. They quickly reverted to gossip—about what a disaster Bob was making of himself on Bumpkin, how Twyla had managed to buy the cafe, whether Darlene’s new gas station was likely to succeed. He only needled Ronnie a little bit about bringing her girlfriend to town; if he annoyed her enough to kick him out, his night would be much colder. After dinner, Ronnie wouldn’t let him wash the dishes, either. She claimed it was because he was a guest, but they never stood on that kind of ceremony; it was because she was extremely particular about the loading of her dishwasher. He held up the movies and made her choose.

“Not the horror one,” she said, “I’m not a teenager, I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“Quite right.” Ray carried his bag to the couch and set their nail polish bottles on the coffee table, and he retrieved the wine and corkscrew and set it there as well. So he turned on the DVD player and put in _Last Holiday_.

“I’ll probably fall asleep before this is over,” Ronnie called. She liked to make a big thing of how early she woke up, but he’d never seen her fall asleep in the middle of anything before, so he was quite sure that claim was just a bluff.

“No you won’t!” he replied cheerfully. “Your fingernails will still be drying, and you care too much about the state of your couch. You won’t risk it.”

Ronnie gave a big show of a sigh, but Ray went to wash his face, for the sheet mask. And she did too, he noticed, before she came to the couch and put her feet on the ottoman. If she was putting her feet up, she was in.

Ray hated to interrupt the movie, so he let Ronnie know in advance that he was happy to help with the nails on her non-dominant hand, or in fact with those on her dominant hand, if she required it. “Yeah, yeah,” she groused, “keep your hands to yourself.” So he topped up their wine and hit play, and the slumber party officially began.


End file.
